


How I Spent My Summer Vacation (Or How Not to Fall In Love With Napoleon Solo)

by nickovetch



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickovetch/pseuds/nickovetch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>U.N.C.L.E.'s second female enforcement agent, Marnie Townsend, sets out to prove herself to the Old Boys' Network. Along the way she gets partnered with Napoleon Solo.  She refuses to let his charm and good looks sway her from her duty.<br/>Yeah; right...</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Spent My Summer Vacation (Or How Not to Fall In Love With Napoleon Solo)

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to MFUWSS, MiniBang50, Akane42me, Elmey, and especially to Avery11 for all the help and nursemaiding along. My first post to AO3 wouldn't have happened without everyone's help!  
> And the illo! Swoon, thud. Avery11 rocks!

 

 

 

__

 

 

 

 _Missed it by that much._ Everyone knows April Dancer. Everyone knows she was U.N.C.L.E.’s first female enforcement agent. _Blah, blah, blah_. Nobody ever remembers who was second.

Me; I was second. And Dancer just beat me out by one stupid class. I’d twisted my ankle when another trainee tripped over me on the obstacle course, one George Dennell--who passed by the merest margin--and I’d had to miss a week of training. Technically, I still graduated with her class, but she got her diploma first, was assigned first, and will forever be remembered as, well, you get the picture.

So, you’ll have to excuse me if I have an April-sized chip on my shoulder when I speak of her. When I’d pass her in the hall, I would always smile politely and never let on that I was anything but professional, but there was always that split-second when I wanted to turn around and stick out my tongue at her. Just once…

Dancer was suave; I was a bumpkin. Dancer was elegant; I was a tomboy. Dancer was Miss America; I was Miss John Deere. I made up for my deficits in other ways. I was smart, inventive, and very good in the field. Even the male agents admitted it after working with me. I’d had five brothers, and grown up rough and tumble. Never allowed to cry, or I’d get a punch in the arm and be called, “Bawl-baby,” in front of everyone. So, I was programmed for the enforcement world. It suited me, or I suited it, or maybe it was a bit of both.

So while Dancer got the high-profile assignments and the high-octane partners, I toiled along in her shadow, and competently made a name for myself as well. I even partnered with George once, and we did a satisfactory job, after I punched him in the arm for tripping me at Survival School. He’s a good guy, and funny as hell, even though he doesn’t mean to be.

My efficiency must have caught someone’s eye, because about a year out, I was called in to a meeting with none other than Mr. Alexander Waverly himself. Yikes! I mean, the guy’s eyebrows are enough to scare anybody, and that’s before he opens his mouth. So I straightened my spine, and checked my breath before I went into his office. I think the little cough Lisa Rogers covered with her hand was her trying not to laugh. Yeah, I don’t much like her, either. Seriously, you’ve seen the women at U.N.C.L.E. I felt like a Ked’s shoe in a room full of Vivier stilettos.

I stood in front of his round table (and the symbolism wasn’t lost me, either) and tried not to fidget. After a moment he greeted me and pointed to a seat. “Miss Townsend, I wanted to speak to you about your record in Section Two thus far.”

My eyebrows must have given me away, for he looked at me kindly and said, “Don’t worry, young lady, I have heard nothing but good things so far, and I must say your scores are exemplary.” My sigh must have amused him, as he smiled just a bit and continued. “I know that enforcement is a hard nut to crack at first, and given that ninety-nine percent of your peers are male, it must be doubly difficult for you. I know Miss Dancer has had her share of resistance, and the Command wants to keep an eye on the progress of its female agents.” He stopped and took out an unlit pipe, rolling it between his large hands absently.

“I’ve had favorable reports from the agents you’ve worked with thus far. Favorable indeed. You don’t seem the least bit intimidated by the males, or by some of their sexist attitudes. It is inevitable, although distasteful.” He watched me squirm on my chair and asked, “You wish to add something, Miss Townsend?”

“Well, sir, being raised with five brothers made it pretty much de rigeur to hold my own against all comers. I hope it isn’t seen as a shortcoming, or as intolerance on my part.”

Waverly’s eyebrows made an appearance. “Good heavens, no. In fact, it is the reason I called you here today. I need a temporary partner for one of my agents. His normal partner won’t be cleared for duty for a few weeks yet.”

“Of course, sir.”

He steepled his fingers and looked across the top of them at me. “This particular agent has a reputation with the female, er, persuasion. But I’m sure it won’t be a problem with you.” _Now, just what did he mean by that_?

“You do have a black belt in karate, Miss Townsend?” He placed the pipe in his mouth, but did not light it.

I was puzzled by the non-sequitur, but answered anyway. “Yes, sir.” He leaned back in his chair, smiled at me and waited. It took a second, but I got it and smiled back. “So that wasn’t a crack about my less-than-feminine wiles, sir?”

Mr. Waverly laughed at me. “No, Miss Townsend, it was not. More an indication of your ability to handle Mr. Solo.”

Now my eyebrows rose. “Mr. Solo? _Napoleon_ Solo? You want to partner me with the C.E.A.?” My voice went up an octave, traitorous thing.

Mr. Waverly chewed on his pipe-stem, trying not to laugh again. At the very least, I was amusing him.

_____

My next meeting was with Mr. Solo himself. I was to meet him in his office, unsure of his mood. Did Waverly order him to take me on as well? I had no way to know of my reception, but walked into his office at the appointed time. All I know of him is his reputation, and that is larger than life. I’m going to have to brush up on my first impression skills, after this week.

He is seated at his desk, and his eyes meet mine as I am waved in. He flinches almost imperceptibly, still enough of a gentleman to have to think about not standing. I think it’s quite charming all the same.

“Mr. Solo, sir.”

“Miss Townsend.” He closed a file folder and kicked back in his chair. “You’ve been briefed by Mr. Waverly?”

“Yes, sir. I hope Mr. Kuryakin is all right, sir.” I’ve met Illya a few times in the cafeteria and on the range. He is quiet, smart, and adorable. I keep this information to myself, though.

He smiled at my concern for his partner. “He’s fine. He’s recuperating from a bullet to the arm.”

I winced in sympathy. Solo winked at me, and said, “Just a flesh wound.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and I think that is adorable, too. _Crap_! Just what Waverly warned me about. I’ll have to be on guard against the famous Solo charm.

Solo is wearing a charcoal grey suit, and his white shirt gleams in the fluorescent light of his office, his tie a perfect Windsor knot. I look down at my sensible poly-cotton blend shirt and sigh.

“We’ve been given a mission to Colombia. You speak Spanish?” It’s in my file and I know that he knows. “Yes, sir.”

“Fluently?” I’m not sure how to answer this so I opt for honesty. “ _No, pero lo hablo bastante bien, Jefe_." He laughs at the _Jefe_ part, I think, and I smiled back.

He pushed a folder over to me and I took it. “Mission brief. Memorize it and then we’ll meet again tomorrow.” He noticed my look and asked, “Questions?”

I frowned. “Just one, sir. How does Mr. Kuryakin deal with a partner who is also the C.E.A.? I mean, most partners are equals. I’m not sure how to work with a partner who is also the section chief. Sir,” I add quickly.

Solo laughed. “I can’t answer for Illya, but we never have any problems. Why don’t you ask him?” His eyebrows lift into a grin and I wonder about that tack.

“Maybe I will, sir.”

His grin widens and I begin to blush, dammit. I drop my head and Solo does rise, then, and extends his hand to me. I take it and clasp it firmly. “Be here tomorrow at ten a.m.”

“ _Si, Jefe_. _Hasta manana_.”

_____

I do indeed seek out Mr. Illya Kuryakin. He is in the lab due to his injury, and I call down and arrange to talk to him on his lunch hour. I get to the cafeteria first and I know what he likes. I get two orders of toasted cheese, tomato soup, and Tater Tots. I flag him down and wave him over. He smiles when he sees the food. He frowns when he sees me. My gut tightens.

“I hear you’re taking over my job?” He scowls for a beat and then breaks out in a grin. I sigh in relief and push the tray over to him. He uses his left arm and I see the imprint of a bandage under his dress shirt.

“Wasn't my idea,” I say between tots. “How is your arm?”

He shakes his blond head. “It’s nothing. Ridiculous that I’m off the roster.” He digs into his sandwich and I let him eat. I’m full of questions and he knows it, but I keep quiet. He mows through half of the tray and then says, “Okay. Out with it.”

I find that I am unaccountably nervous, and dump the rest of my tots on his tray. He smiles. “How do you deal with the fact that your partner is the C.E.A.? I mean, in the field, you have to be equals. I’m not sure how to deal with that.”

Kuryakin leaned back in his metal chair and sighed. “Just think of Napoleon as senior field agent and you’ll be fine. He doesn't get caught up by rank unless it’s really necessary, like here at H.Q.”

“Well, that shouldn't be a problem, since I’m senior to exactly no one.” I shook my head.

Illya laughed and showed his adorableness again. “We all were at one time, Townsend. Solo is a fair and open-minded agent. You really don’t have to worry about him.” He winked and I tried not to sigh. “He was paired with a Russkie once, you know.”

I smiled. “Yeah, how’d that work out?”

Kuryakin leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll let you know.”

I laughed, then, and decided I was hungry after all.

_____

The C.E.A. thing wasn't a problem in the field, just as Illya predicted. Solo and I worked well together. I did, however, appreciate his seniority at one point in our mission. The point of a gun, specifically. The one pointed at my head. One Thrush guard was late to the dismantling party and neither of us saw him enter the building we’d just cleared. He came up behind me and crushed me to him, pushing his weapon into my neck. I saw Solo slide quietly behind a crate, before the Thrushie could see him. “Where’s your partner?” he asked, jabbing the barrel into my flesh.

"Right behind you,” I replied.

He tensed and then said, “Very funny.” He pulled me back against him and then shouted, “Show yourself, or I’ll blow her brains out.” _Why do they always, always say that_? It was the last thing I had time to think as my air ran out.

The warehouse greyed out to blackness and then a pinprick of brightness bloomed to my right and a roar filled my ears. I felt a warmth splash against my skin and the pressure on my neck eased. I sucked in oxygen and staggered, but Solo was there to keep me on my feet. I looked down and saw the Thrushie was missing half of his head. I found it. I was wearing it. I was too much in shock to think about it and Solo used his hanky to wipe off the worst of it. We had to high-tail it and we kept moving until we hit the pick-up point.

Solo reported in and then we were off to the hotel until the flight out the next afternoon. I was grateful it was night and I could sneak into the hotel without anyone seeing the mess I was in. Solo checked us in and then met me at the back stairs, pressing the key into my hand. Once we got into the room, he did a security check while I sat heavily in a chair. He knelt at my feet and took my cheek in his hand. “You okay, Townsend?” I didn’t answer and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Marnie?” The use of my first name brought me around and I looked into his worried brown eyes.

I sighed. “Yes, I’m fine, Mr. Solo. Thanks to you.” I stood on wobbly legs. “But I need a shower in the worst way.”

I stripped out of my holster, handed Solo my weapon and went to the bathroom. I started the shower, peeled off the blood-soaked fatigues and stepped under the spray. I lathered, rinsed, repeated, but I couldn’t seem to get clean. I watched the blood run down my body into the drain, and dropped to my knees, retching. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t work, so after a couple of tries, I just sat on the floor of the shower, wrapped my arms around my knees and wept. I heard my brothers’ “Bawl-baby” in my head, but I couldn’t stop. I sobbed; really, loud hitching cries that made my ribs hurt. My teeth chattered and I felt cold, despite the warm water running over me.

I heard the door open and saw a strong arm reach in and turn off the taps. A gentle hand pushed the hair from my face and wrapped a towel around me, pulling me up and into the solid body of my partner. I had stopped sobbing, but my breath hitched every few seconds with the aftermath of the emotional outpouring. My legs were still made of rubber, apparently, so Solo lifted me out of the tub and carried me to one of the twin beds. He sat me down and then returned with a warm robe and helped me into it. I was too far gone to be embarrassed by my nudity. He folded me into the bed, covered me with the blankets and then sat next to my bed, holding my cold hand, speaking quietly to me. I really didn’t hear what he was saying, but it soothed me nonetheless.

After a bit, I shook myself and blew my nose. I smiled at Solo, still sitting on the floor, and asked him if he held the hands of the guys. He squeezed once more and then let go, and answered, “Not generally. The guys are usually blindingly drunk by now, or have tossed most of the furniture in the room out the window.”

He was trying to make me feel better, I know. “I can’t imagine you sitting in the tub, crying, though.” I sniffed, hating my weakness.

Solo stood, stripped down to his t-shirt and fatigue pants and then sat on his bed. “We all react in different ways, Marnie. But we all react. We see things that we shouldn’t. We’re put in impossible situations and have to deal with the consequences. We’re human. If you hadn’t been rattled, I’d have been a lot more worried.”

I shook my head, unconvinced. “I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this.”

Solo went to the mini-bar and fixed us both a drink. He handed mine to me and I took a gulp of the bourbon, feeling it burn its way down my throat. I was glad to feel it.

“You did a good job, Marnie. We work well together. Don’t make any decisions just yet. We have two weeks together before Illya comes back. Stick with it and then, if you still want out, I’ll okay a transfer to whatever section you like. Deal?”

I took another belt of the surprisingly good whiskey before I answered. “Deal, Mr. Solo.”

He smiled at me, and said, “I’ve seen you naked; you could at least call me Napoleon.”

I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head, my face coloring. I heard him laughing, and the sound was sweet and comforting.

_____

I did stick with it, and learned more from Napoleon in three weeks than I did the entire time at The Island. He took what Cutter started and fleshed it out into reality. He showed me what I really needed in the field and what I could leave on the hangar floor. Not once did he make a comment about my sex, or what I could or couldn’t do; he just took me at face value and helped me from the ground up. I owe my success in Section Two to his patient teaching, and I kept my promise to Mr. Waverly. I didn’t let the Solo Charm work its wicked way with me. _Yeah, right_.

The man was gorgeous. Nicely built, but not in a Mr. Universe way. I got plenty of opportunities to see him shirtless and sweaty in the steamy jungle, dressed to the nines in a Pierre Cardin tuxedo (and it was worth having to dress all girlie to see him), and got up close and personal belaying each other down sheer cliffs. I knew I had to keep it professional; I owed him that much. So I treated him like one of my older brothers and was able to hold him in that regard while we were working.

But this was our last mission together—our last night together for that matter. Illya was chomping at the bit to get back in harness ( _how do you like that metaphor, nice, huh_?) and Napoleon would meet up with him once we reached New York. We finished the tail and grab assignment and handed our pigeon off to the authorities without any muss or fuss. No runs, no hits, no errors. We had time to unwind and I took Napoleon out for dinner to thank him for all he’d done for me.

“That’s not necessary, Marnie.” His brown eyes crinkled at me—again, dammit. A girl could get lost in those expressive depths… _yikes, I had it bad_. I shook myself and smiled back. “No, not necessary. But traditional. Let me do this for you, please, Napoleon.” He’d taken my hand and kissed it on the back like the knight errant he was. Remember Waverly and his round table? _Uh,huh_ …

So we were at the La Ciccia having a very nice steak dinner, drinking a very nice wine, talking about our missions, and generally just grab-assing (without the actual ass-grabbing) and that was just fine with me. I knew that in the real world, I wouldn’t even be a blip on Solo’s radar, what with all the model-worthy feminine pulchritude pulsing around him at U.N.C.L.E. Once we got back, I would be just another agent he’d worked with, even if I were the only other female one he knew.

But, tonight, oh, tonight, he was all mine. I’d kept my promise to Mr. Waverly, and kept our relationship strictly professional while we were on duty, but we were off the clock now. I had no delusions about my ability to attract and seduce a sensual dynamo like Solo back home, but necessity put me in a very attractive place--the only female in his immediate vicinity. He was much too much a gentleman to pick up another woman while I was with him, at least for now. Once we left the restaurant, he might be up for grabs. I didn’t know his after-mission routine, and didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

I had, however, paid close attention to my Mr. Solo and I now see that he created some of his vaunted luck. I hoped some of it had rubbed off on me during our tenure. It was payday, and I wanted to collect. To that end, I turned my chair just a bit, stretching my back as I did so. The waiter carrying the plates of spaghetti and meatballs never had a chance. He tripped over the carefully placed fork on the floor and dumped the hot fare directly in my lap. I jumped up and fanned my skirt, to dump the detritus and cool off my thighs. That spaghetti was _hot_!

Napoleon got up to help as well, handing me his napkin, the placement of the indecorum making it indelicate for him to assist. The poor waiter turned beet red, apologizing profusely in Italian, and Solo replied somewhat harshly in the same tongue. I don’t speak Italian, but it was close enough to Spanish that I got the gist of it. The maître d’ came over immediately and apologized profusely, dismissing the poor waiter to the kitchen. He comped our dinner, which I did feel badly about, but I had to play the victim. A busboy brought me an apron to wear over the mess, so I wouldn’t get it on my coat, and we collected our things and made for the exit. The first waiter came up to me and handed Solo a box of desserts to take with us, the best apology he could come up with. If the evening turned out the way I hoped it would, I’d come back and give the kid a big tip. Like, a fifty-dollar tip.

Solo hailed a taxi, and I got in carefully. We both pretended not to smell the aroma of marinara in the back seat. The cabbie looked back once or twice, but assumed the box we carried held a doggie bag. I looked at Napoleon and started laughing; I couldn’t help it. He joined in and we were wiping tears from our eyes by the time we got to the hotel. He got out first and handed me out and I surprised him by holding on. His hand was warm and calloused. So was mine, but I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Once we got to the room, he went first, ever the senior agent, if not the gentleman. We cleared the room and I went to my case to get some clean clothes. I rummaged for a bit and then said, “Rats. This was my last clean outfit. I planned on wearing it to the airport tomorrow.” I pulled off the apron and picked at the sauce congealing on my outfit. “Maybe I can wash it in the shower.”

Solo shook his head and said, “It’s a goner. Put it on the expense account.” He opened his bag and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. “Here. You can wear these. At least they’re clean.”

I took the clothes and then showered, cleaning up and dressing in Solo’s things. They were worn and soft and smelled like him. I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and sniffed. I had to roll up the sleeves and fold down the waist one turn on the jeans to make them fit well enough that they wouldn’t fall off. If my plan worked I wouldn’t be wearing them for long…

I came out of the bath and he was stretched out on his bed, apparently settling in for the night. He was in his t-shirt and slacks, shoes and socks kicked off and tie folded over the jacket on a chair. My throat got tight and I covered by walking to the dresser and opening the package the restaurant gave us. Two pieces of chocolate torte lay inside. There was a God! I carried the box over to the nightstand between the two beds and set it down, letting Solo see the inside.

He looked at me, frank appraisal in his eyes for once. “You look cute in my clothes.”

This was it—what I had engineered and maneuvered and hoped would happen. I took a deep breath and turned toward Napoleon. “Not as cute as you do in them.” I blinked, long and slow. It was the only girlie trick in my book, and I had been practicing in the mirror all day. I sat on the edge of his bed, and added, “But not nearly as good as you would look out of them.”

There it was—the gauntlet. I’d thrown it down in front of my White Knight. Now the only question was if he would pick it up. I saw the surprise register on his face, the eyes opening a bit wider at my boldness. “It’s only fair, Napoleon. You’ve seen me naked, remember?” I let the question linger, watching him closely. His pupils dilated, and he took in a breath at the change in my demeanor. He didn’t move, or turn away, so I scooted closer, moving up the bed to sit next to him, feeling the heat of his body next to mine. I reached a hand up, closer. I ran one finger through the frosting on the torte next to us, and offered it to his mouth. He captured my finger in his lips, licking the frosting from me slowly and then bit gently when it was gone. The first touch of his mouth on me and I was gone. I am only human…

I growled, so help me, _growled_ , surprising us both, and straddled him, knees on either side of his hips, and leaned across his chest, my elbows locked, holding myself off of him by the barest of margins. I wanted him to come to me, to make sure it was his decision. Mine had been made the first day in his office. So I waited, locked on his beautiful eyes, not even breathing.

He turned his head the littlest bit, then smiled gently, and leaned into me, his lips touching mine. I whimpered in relief, and joined the kiss, closing my eyes and letting him lead. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue along the outline of my mouth, breathing into me. He tasted of chocolate, merlot, and something else not easily defined, but patently Napoleon. His tongue entered my mouth, and I played with it, suckling it gently, bathing it in my saliva. Too soon he broke off, and I panted, trying to remember how to breathe.

He took my hands in his and asked, “Marnie?”

I smiled at his gentleness, knowing it would be hard to leave him after this. He would imprint into my very soul tonight, but I would take it and keep it within me. It was what I wanted. “I want this. I want _you_. Just for tonight, before we go back to New York and to what we were before. Give me this gift, Napoleon. I know it’s just tonight, and I won’t hold you to anything.” I placed my hand on his chest. “I’m all grown up now, Mr. Solo.”

He placed his hand over mine. “I noticed.” He squeezed my hand and then pulled me to him, his hands on my face, kissing me passionately. I felt his arousal against my core, and knew he wanted me as well. I grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, and he allowed me to pull it over his head. There was one place I had to taste. I lay against his chest, and placed my hand across his cheek. I kissed his chin, my tongue delving into the cleft there, and suckled at him, hearing his throaty chuckle against my mouth as I moved down his neck. He leaned back against the headboard and watched me as I moved my delighted way down his body. He seemed more than happy to let me explore, and I wanted to map every inch of him.

I kissed his collarbone, and lapped at the notch between them, listening with pleasure at the hiss it provoked. When I suckled at one dark nipple, he arched off the bed, eyes slitted in response. I felt his erection jerk beneath me, and ground my hips against it. I attacked the other nipple and Solo groaned, and I smiled against the pebbled flesh in my mouth. I looked up at my lover and his eyes were closed, mouth open and panting against the sensations wracking him. My belly tightened and I was wet with need. I took a breath of my own, wanting to take my time with him, knowing it was portioned out to me.

He was beautiful, chest heaving under me and gleaming in the dim light from the desk lamp. I felt tears welling and stopped them by steely determination that I would not allow myself to become maudlin. It was what it was, and nothing else. But I was determined to enjoy this night like no other. I smiled predatorily, and kissed my way down the center of him, where he was nearly hairless, no impediment to my licking and tasting his skin. He was salty and sharp, and I could taste his cologne on my tongue. I could tell I was getting closer, the texture of his skin changing as I encountered the thin trail of soft hair that led to his happy place.

I swabbed his navel as I passed, hearing the hitch in his breathing as I did so. _Hmmm, a ticklish spot._ So I forced myself to linger, licking and suckling and hearing those delightful slurred groans from his gorgeous mouth. I took hold of his belt, wrenching it open and pulling his dress slacks apart with my thumbs, my eager hands feeling the hardness underneath. I could smell him now, his musk spicy and sexy and _oh, Solo, mio_. He wore boxers, not surprising for a man his age and for the times. I reached my hand inside the parted fabric and curled my fingers around him. _My, my, Napoleon, you are a big boy_!

His moan was cut off as I closed around him, a strangled sound of need coming now. I put my face in the cleft of his trousers and just breathed him in. He was hard and heavy, and I mouthed him through the thin cotton of his boxers, and he arched again, trying to speed me up, his own need overriding his politeness.

I came off him, yanking the clothes from his hips and pulling them down and away, leaving him naked and incredibly beautiful as I gazed at him. Our eyes met for a moment as I memorized him inch by inch. He saw the heat in my eyes and didn’t shrink from it. I said, “Beautiful,” just before I lowered my head and took him in my mouth.

He grabbed the comforter in his hands, trying not to thrust into my heat, and I rewarded him by taking that much more of him down my throat. He was circumcised, which I loved, his glans smooth and huge and sensitive, and I laved my agile tongue against it, suckling like a calf and sweeping into the slit on every other pass. I delved under him with my hands, stroking his sac and testing the weight of his stones. _Yep, big balls_. The rumors were all true. I put my finger inside my mouth alongside his thick cock and then suckled strongly, distracting him for a moment. I slid back to his sac and then rubbed the soft skin behind it, hearing him hiss again and then touched the tight pucker there with my wet digit. I pushed into him, burying my finger and watching him arch off the bed and strangle the scream that tried to erupt. His cock pulsed in my mouth and I waited for the rush of semen, wanting to taste him at last.

Suddenly, I was on my back, and Napoleon was above me, shaking his head at me. He straddled me now, and pinned my wrists against my sides. He was panting, sweating and scowling. “Oh, no, you don’t, you little minx.” He lay down on me and I could feel his hard shaft poking into my belly. “You’re wearing too much.” He took the sweatshirt _in his_ _teeth_ , God help me, and skinned it up my chest. He let go of my wrists long enough to pull it over my head, allowing my hair to fall down across the pillow. He gazed at my breasts, and then took hold of them in his warm hands, caressing gently and pulling the nipples into hard peaks. They begged for his mouth, and he didn’t let me down. It was my turn to groan as he suckled at my hot flesh, his mobile mouth doing wonderful things to my body. He released my nipple with a pop and then returned to my mouth for a few dizzying moments, before he grinned wickedly at me and started to move down my chest, heading south. I closed my eyes; that grin nearly my undoing.

He yanked my, er, his jeans down now, sauce for the goose, etc., and peeled me out of them. He took his time coming back up my legs; kissing and nibbling on my toes and underneath my knees, making me twitch and giggle. He stopped at my thighs, noting the reddened skin from the hot spaghetti sauce. He rubbed them with his hand, and then kissed the area, finishing by licking and then blowing cool air across them. Goose bumps pebbled me immediately, and he kissed them away, too.

He looked up at me, and pressed my legs upward, getting his elbows under them, spreading me for him. He dipped down and then rubbed his cheeks against me, opening me with his fingers and kissed me intimately. Now I arched and moaned, moving underneath him, trying to mitigate my need and last longer.

From where I was standing, well, lying, I conceded Solo’s reputation. He knew every place a woman wanted to be licked, and a few more I didn’t. I’m thinking he must have been pre-med at some point, because the man knew his anatomy. Hell, after tonight, he knew _my_ anatomy. I worked my fingers into his soft dark hair, caressing his scalp as he was caressing me. I closed my eyes and just felt, moaning and whimpering as he made me say words that would shock my mother. And she’d been in the _navy_ …

I felt the ripples of my orgasm begin and I went with it, knowing Napoleon would be of the ‘ladies first’ mindset, _and_ _don’t mind if I do_ … I let go of his hair, fearing I would pull it out and grabbed his shoulders instead, keening shamelessly as he alternately sucked and strummed my clit with his thumb. I looked down at his dark head between my thighs and went off like a firecracker, rocket, flare, _insert favorite incendiary device here_. Waves of delight worked through my body and I screamed, I think. If I didn’t it was scream-worthy. A ten out of ten. Actually, more like a baker’s dozen. _Shit_ , the man hadn’t even touched me with his dick yet…and as this thought ran through my brain, another orgasm ran through me, Napoleon chuckling as he fellated me, feeling the spasms against his mouth and tongue.

“Yes, Marnie; that’s it, baby. Come for me.” Well, okay, he was my boss and I had to obey a direct order. My throat was tight what with all the moaning and groaning and the screaming, don’t forget the screaming. I’m sure the folks on either side of our room won’t either…

I finally stopped pulsing and Napoleon kissed me one more time and then crawled up my body, leaving a trail from his own arousal across my stomach, his cock hard and leaking from delaying his own pleasure to ensure mine. He grinned, proud of himself, and I was fine, just fine with that. He leaned into me and I kissed him, telling him how good he was and tasting myself on his skin and tongue. I licked and kissed him until he was clean, loving the way his tongue felt against mine, in my mouth. I felt his cock twitch against me and pushed up, letting him know it was his turn to play. He looked at me and I know the definition of ‘smoldered,’ now, and it took my breath. Might as well have it, anyway, because he rolled his hips once and plunged that huge cock of his into me in one sharp, fast stroke. I was dripping wet, and took him inside easily, and, _oh_ , who needs to breathe, anyway?

He watched my reaction, satisfied that he hadn’t hurt me, and then came down to me and took my lips, his tongue doing the very same wickedness to my mouth that his shaft was doing to my nether regions. He sped up and I latched onto his neck, sucking him like a vampire, needing to taste some part of him, to mark him as mine, at least for now. I heard his deep voice growling Italian endearments into my ear, and his busy mouth laved my ear lobe. He pulled back, and turned me on my side, placing both strong hands on my top hip, and began pushing into me faster, rolling his hips and undulating against me. I’d never tried this position and it was wonderful. He thrust even deeper into me like this and there was a delicious friction against my clit as he plowed in and out. I heard his rasping breath, and he was sweating, working really hard into me. After a few minutes, he pulled me flat again, and bent my legs up, nestling under them with his elbows. He settled into a driving rhythm, his eyes dilated black and his forelock dripping sweat down onto my chest. His mouth closed around my breast, and he sucked me one at a time, both of us crying out at the erotic sensations. He was close, his hips driving forward enough to push my entire body toward the headboard with each thrust. He panted, letting his head drop, and asked with one word, “ _Marnie_?”

I smiled at him and my heart was full. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, or ever would see. I knew it and exulted that I would have this memory forever. I took his face in my hands, and said, “Yes, Napoleon.” I kissed him one last time as he gathered me tighter against him, his head dropping down to my neck, burying his face against me as he pounded into me, his body driving to its release. He kept it up for a few minutes, and then he raised his head, calling my name as he buried himself deeply, his back arching as he came, his fingers grinding against me, allowing me another release, my body clenching and tightening around him as he jetted his seed into me.

He whimpered, my orgasm taking him by surprise, milking every last drop from him, prolonging his pleasure. He stilled, rested part of his weight on me and panted furiously, his cock still hard inside me. I thrust up against it; using my strength to lift our hips, a slow sensuous rocking letting us stay connected while we came to the end. Napoleon matched my movements, enjoying the closeness and the recovery. He was sweet, and attentive, not one of those guys who rolled off immediately and then left you in the wet spot.

We separated naturally, and both hissed as he came out of me, tired and sore but in the best way possible. I stretched my back, and he settled between my thighs, kissing my belly and laying his head on my chest. He started laughing, and I poked him. “What?”

“ _Three_ times, Marnie?"

I sighed dramatically, and smiled back at him. “Never have before.” I blushed a bit, even now. “Not like that, anyway. Wow!”

Napoleon’s eyes caught mine and he was grinning again. “You’re welcome.”

I hit him with a pillow. “Hey! You never let me say thank you.”

His smile turned sweeter as he replied, “Marnie, you’ve been saying thank you all night.”

I leaned into him and kissed him over and over. When we were done, he laid his dark, sweaty head back down. I poked him again. “Who’s sleeping in the wet spot, partner?”

He snorted. He lifted that gorgeous face to mine and gestured to his right. “No one. We have a whole other bed.”

I brightened at that. “And we still have chocolate torte.” I slapped him on the ass and said, “Come on. Let’s go get a shower and then we can have dessert. _Another_ dessert, Mr. Solo.”

He sighed, rolled off me and took my hand, pulling me up to him. As we passed the other bed, I felt a shiver run through me at the thought of sleeping there all night with Napoleon. I was secretly hoping we wouldn’t be doing much sleeping.

And I usually get my way…

 

P.S. The waiter at La Ciccia got that fifty-dollars...


End file.
